


Blood and Servitude

by vitious



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Roman, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitious/pseuds/vitious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gladiator!AU.  Iuvenalis dreams of freedom, of the open sea, dreams of a time when his world wasn’t blood, death, and depravity, but he supposes his suffering is an adequate price for the treasure he has been given.  See Chapter one to a guide to names. **Indefinite Hiatus**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. F.A.Q.

Note: Most of the main characters are of Roman or mixed descent. Brutus is NOT of Roman descent, but adopted a Roman name after certain events. Tullia and Vitus are of mixed heritage, but Vitus was born in Rome. Decimus is also of mixed heritage but adopted a Roman name as well for use in the arena. 

Name Guide(This will expand as more characters are introduced - Also I’m sure I butchered these pronunciation format things):

Bruce Wayne - Brutus [Broot-uhs]

Jason Todd - Iuvenalis [Ee-oo-veh-nah-lihs], Iuve [Ee-oo-veh]

Tim Drake - Tacitus [Tah-sih-tuhs]

Dick Grayson - Decimus [Deh-sih-muhs], Deci [Deh-see]

Damian Wayne - Domitius [Dom-ih-tee-uhs]

Talia Al Ghul - Tullia

Ra’s Al Ghul - Regulus


	2. Chapter 2

Iuvenalis remembered the smell of the ocean and knew that she would always be his first love. Once he’d had true freedom, had been able to do as he wished, but betrayal had left his crew dead and himself preparing for a more public execution. It had been many years since he had last been in Rome, his birthplace, but he hadn’t missed it, had never wished to return, and especially not as entertainment for the Emperor. However he supposed that it was better to die fighting than to die by being quartered, something which was practiced all-too-frequently in the city. No, he hadn’t missed the ruthlessness and hopelessness that was Rome at all.

They provided him minimal armor, most of the flesh of his torso and legs exposed, and a low-quality sword and shield, battered and worn from previous owners. His equipment smelled of blood and old death, obviously worn by some criminal before him that had met a similar fate and probably not too long ago. His helmet covered his face- better for the audience to distance themselves from the fact that it was an execution of a person, allowing them to focus on the fact that he was just a criminal. Really, all they cared about was seeing someone slit his throat and, while a quick death was a good death, he would still fight hard and well.

Two guards escorted him to the entrance to the coliseum, keeping him just far enough out of sight. He could hear the roar of the crowd and the ring of metal against metal, along with the sickening sounds that he’d come to associate with death. There was thunderous applause and cheering, making him grimace in distaste and move to lean against the side of tunnel leading to the arena, head tipping back as he reminisced. If he was to die that day, it would be with the memory of Crete and its blue waters in his mind and heart, of his crew, of the spray of ocean water and of drunken nights. He would remember freedom even as he was cut down as a slave. 

Men appeared in the entrance, dragging a body carelessly behind them. Iuvenalis watched them pass, staring at the smear of blood the dead gladiator left in his wake, listening to the scrape of torn metal against stone, wondering what he had left behind. Gladiators weren’t given proper Roman funerals, not when they were no longer citizens of Rome, but part of Iuvenalis was indifferent to it. While he wished that his body could go to the cradle of the sea, the afterlife he went to when he heaved his last breath was far more important than whatever the Romans chose to do with his corpse.

Suddenly he was being nudged roughly towards the mouth of the tunnel. He shot a defiant look back at the guards through the slit of his helmet as he straightened and strode out into the arena, wincing at the uproar from the crowd, which drowned out the Emperor’s voice. Across from him stood a man who was of slighter build than he was, but wore gleaming armor; obviously he had won frequently enough to be rewarded with his own set. His helmet concealed his entire face, except for the metal mesh that covered the eyes. An eagle, screaming defiance, adorned the top of the helmet and a trail of black horse-hair fell from the back. Striking at the head wasn’t much of an option, especially not with the wide visor that stretched across the brow and ended at the jaw.

There were other places he could strike, such as the exposed flesh of the inner thigh, though that was the only exposed area. His skin was even darker than Iuvenalis’ if the exposed flesh of his hands and thighs were an an example of the rest of him: the bronzed skin spoke of a mixed heritage and extensive time in the sun. Shaking his head sharply, Iuvenalis turned his attention to the rest of the coliseum, listening as the Emperor announced his crimes and and crowd booed. He bowed his head, eyes narrowed, not looking at any of them, not even the warrior that was to be his executioner. Each offense was over-exaggerated, made more extreme than it truly had been. Iuve’s hand flexed around his sword and his jaw clenched. He wished that he had been swallowed by Neptune, dashed across the rocks of Crete, anything but being demonized by blood-thirsty spectators. Once Rome had had more honor than this, once he would have been judged for his true crimes, once the coliseum had been better than what it was now.

Iuve’s opponent shifted restlessly, turning to stare at the Emperor, the hair attached to his helmet spilling like inky water over his shoulder. There was no boasting from this man, this champion, no chest pounding or declaration of victory that spilled from his lips. In fact it seemed more that the man who stood behind him wasn’t necessarily a Champion, not a free one at least, but perhaps more a cherished pet, covered in finery to appeal to his master’s desires. He seemed as eager to be done with the match as Iuvenalis was, his weight shifting like a stallion stamping his feet at the gate to his stable. This gladiator reminded Iuve much of a horse, in fact: lean, powerful muscle on a small frame, his entire body betraying that he was built for agility and not force.

Iuvenalis’ musings were cut short by a cry from the Emperor, signaling the beginning of the match. Eyes narrowing, Iuve immediately shifted into a defensive stance, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him who had adopted a similar position. It was obvious, then, why this man had been chosen to fight him and he, grudgingly, had to give the Emperor credit for his choice in gladiators. The man before him was clearly a skilled fighter, talented in the art of war in ways that could only be learned from years of experience and practice. They had not underestimated Iuve’s abilities, something which made pride lick down his spine, made him eager for the fight, eager to challenge this foe, to test his abilities. Iuvenalis supposed that that was the reaction that the Emperor wanted him to have, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care if he was being manipulated any longer; it would all be over soon enough.

They advanced slowly, circled one another and, as he got closer, Iuvenalis could see a flash of his opponent’s eyes, a glimpse of blue like ocean water, which simply made him more intrigued. When the first blow came Iuve almost didn’t dodge in time, the blade coming close enough that he could feel the passing of it across his skin. Deflecting the blow, he danced to the side, his heart hammering in his chest, and his eyes wide. His opponent was fast, lethal, and the thought made an adrenaline-drunk smile curve his lips beneath the helmet he wore. Iuvenalis imagined the feel of wood beneath his feet, the touch of the ocean breeze, but couldn’t imagine slaughtering the man before him like he had countless before, not when he was so talented, so dangerous. After all, whether or not Iuve won, he was most likely a dead man, but this man, this warrior, he had survived for so long, it felt wrong to try to kill such a man when it was no fault of his own that they were locked in combat.

Iuvenalis relinquished his hold on his shield, shaking his arm so the circle of metal fell to the arena sand, kicking it aside. His opponent seemed perplexed, his stance faltering, as Iuve lifted his freed hand to his helmet and tugged it off, tossing it carelessly to the side to let sweaty, white and black hair fall messily in his eyes. There were startled gasps and disgruntled murmuring from the audience which simply broadened his smile as he settled into a more familiar stance; the pirates of Crete had no use for shield or helm. 

“You need not fear death from me.” Iuvenalis made sure his voice was loud enough to be heard by his opponent but not by the crowd. “My death is certain. I simply wish to die with the thrill of our battle still singing in my veins.”

Across from him his fellow gladiator canted his head to the side in curiosity. “You seem certain that you will lose.”

“Killing you would not save me, so I will simply accept my end and pray that Neptune guides me to the safety of his brother’s embrace.” Iuve lunged then, faster now without the weight of his shield on his arm.

His opponent deflected the blow, their swords colliding over and over, the force behind each blow vibrating down Iuve’s arm. “One would think that it would be Mars you would pray to.”

“I am a man of the sea more than I am a man of battle,” Iuve retorted as their blades locked, the iron shrieking in protest.

“Your skill says otherwise,” his opponent countered, his words strained. “Most of my opponents of late have been desperate farmers or simple thieves. Most I am forced to kill though they do not deserve my blade.”

“The fact that you feel guilt intrigues me even more than your talent, gladiator.” Iuve grinned before shoving roughly at his sword, breaking the lock as he twisted out of the way.

“Decimus.” The man was already back in his stance, already prepared to strike once more. “You deserve to know my name if I am to be the one to kill you.”

“Iuvenalis.” Iuve flashed Decimus a shark-like grin, giving a small bow even as he kept his eyes on the gladiator. “Feel no guilt when my blood stains your blade, Decimus.”

“Guilt I may not feel.” Decimus lunged for a him, their swords ringing together as he pressed the attack and the crowd cheered. “But I will mourn the passing of a worthy opponent.”

“You do me an honor.” Iuvenalis’ breathing was heavy, sweat glistening in the noonday sun as he blocked strike after strike. “One that I am not certain I deserve.”

“You are the first to make my pulse pound like this in many months.” Decimus locked their blades again and leaned in, their faces close, leaving Iuve staring into eyes that constantly reminded him of the only place he’d ever called home.

“Had we met in other circumstances, I’d make your pulse pound for other reasons,” Iuve breathed, surprised by how easily those words fell from his lips.

Decimus’ eyes widened and he reared back, which Iuve took as an opportunity to kick at the other man’s legs, the sudden disruption in the Gladiator’s balance sending him toppling to the ground. However, what Iuve didn’t expect was for the Gladiator to catch himself easily and to just as easily sweep the former pirate’s legs out from under him. Iuvenalis fell, landing hard, pain lancing up his forearm as he caught himself awkwardly. Decimus was on him in a heartbeat, knocking Iuve’s blade aside and putting his own blade against the pirate’s throat, strong thighs bracketing the criminal’s hips. Iuve shouldn’t have found it attractive, shouldn’t have found the strength and weight of the other man arousing in the slightest, but he thought it better than to die bitter and full of regrets.

Iuvenalis could hear the crowd cheering, could hear them chanting for his death, but his eyes were only for his executioner. “I want to see your face.”

Decimus hesitated for a long moment before lifting his free hand to his helmet and tugging it off. “I suppose I can give you that.”

To say that Decimus was not what he had expected was an understatement. In fact his features were much softer, the lines of his face masculine yet elegant. Sweat-soaked, black hair like the wings of a raven clung to his cheeks and forehead , his eyes an even more pure, sparkling blue when not hidden beneath the shadow of his helmet’s visor. His face was just as dark as the rest of him, telling him that he spent as much time in the sun out of his armor as he did in it. Iuvenalis cursed his luck, cursed whatever fate had let him find such a man at such a time, when he only had a few more moments of breath left in him.

“I feel as though the gods have played a cruel joke on me,” Iuve breathed, wondering if his face echoed the pain he felt.

Decimus’ expression was sad yet resigned, and devoid of pity. “You fought well. I wish our battle had not ended so soon.”

“Is it too forward for a man who will soon be dead to request a kiss?” Iuve questioned, joking.

“Yes.” Decimus whispered before leaning down and pressing their mouths together.

Decimus tasted like sun and spice, like sweat and blood, and Iuve cherished it while he had it. It was at odds with their fight, slow and chaste, the brush of their lips together so sweet that it made the pirate’s chest ache. Too soon Decimus was pulling back, his eyes heavy lidded as he stared down at the man he would soon execute by order of the Emperor, yet he smiled, the curve of his lips elegant and beautiful.

However it is not too forward for a man about to be free,” Decimus murmured before looking up as the crowd fell silent.

Iuvenalis felt as if his voice had been stripped from him, the gladiator’s words striking to his core with more force than any blade. He stared at the lines of his face, the shining darkness of his hair, the purest blue of his eyes, and felt at peace, gratitude rolling through him. Decimus was right, for the only freedom he would ever have would be through death now that his former life had been destroyed, like a ship dashed upon the cliffs of Crete. His eyes slipped shut when the crowd cheered, waiting for the pain of the blade drawing across his throat to bleed him out upon the sands, waiting for the embrace of Pluto.

When he felt the blade leave his throat, he thought it was to give Decimus leverage for a cleaner stroke. However, sudden, thunderous applause made him open his eyes to stare at the gladiator on top of him, who was staring down at him, stunned. Frowning, Iuve glanced towards the Emperor who stood, his thumb turned upwards, looking pleased and proud. Shock spread through the former pirate. Decimus climbed off him and offered him his hand which Iuvenalis accepted without hesitation, staring at the crowd that cheered and made excited gestures.

“…Why?” Iuve questioned, not feeling relieved in the slightest; a quick death was easy, a life as a slave in the gladiator arena was not.

“You fought bravely,” Decimus answered. “Wave to the crowd, Iuvenalis.”

Iuve shot the other gladiator an irritated look but Decimus wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the Emperor. Hesitantly the former pirate lifted his hand into the air to wave at the crowd, their cheers increasing in volume even as guards marched across the sand. Iuvenalis expected them to escort him back the way he had come, to be thrown in some dank cell to be forgotten, but instead he was ushered after Decimus once the gladiator had retrieved his helmet. As they slipped within the cool confines of the Coliseum, keeping to the area in which the gladiators prepared, Decimus shot a warning look over his shoulder before he was escorted down another hallway. That alarm made wariness and a small amount of panic to claw at his insides. Iuve had a feeling that he would not enjoy his fate now that he had left the arena. 

“Kneel, slave. The Emperor is coming to see you,” one of the guards barked, kicking at the back of Iuve’s knees, sending him toppling to the floor.

Iuvenalis shot a narrow look at the guard but remained silent, his hands bloody, though he wasn’t certain where the blood had come from; he had been too engrossed in thoughts of his demise to register pain. Both guards moved away from him to stand at the entryway of the Coliseum, remaining alert but leaving him alone on the cold floor. Once again Iuve felt low, dirty, like an insect that didn’t deserve the attention of those higher than him, and, suddenly, he resented the Emperor greatly for sparing him as he had. At least in death he would have held onto his honor. If he had been killed he would have gone to the afterlife with the taste of Decimus on his lips and visions of home behind his eyelids.

It was hard for Iuvenalis to tell how long he’d been kneeling on the cold floor. It felt like an eternity, each cut and scrape he had acquired during his battle with Decimus making themselves known, one by one. Iuvenalis was dirty, bloody, and felt far more miserable than he had since entering that sun-soaked arena, knowing that death waited for him. But he’d been wrong, hadn’t he? Mercy had been what awaited him in the Coliseum; mercy, when all he had wanted was a swift death at the hands of a beautiful stranger that he could have believed was an embodiment of the ocean, a creature of Neptune’s making.

He heard footsteps approaching but didn’t raise his head. He knew not to look at the Emperor unless he was bid do so, thus he kept his eyes on the floor. Three sets of feet entered his vision, all of which he could tell belonged to nobles, and he forced himself not to look up, not to stare at them defiantly. Death in an arena was a good death, but defying the Emperor and dying on the floor of a changing room after being run-through by a guard’s sword… That was a terrible death for a man such as Iuve.

“This is the one, Emperor?” the voice was young but cold, mature beyond its years.

“Yes, my son. I believe this one and Decimus will serve you well.” the Emperor’s hand reached out and gripped Iuvenalis’ lower jaw, turning his head one way, then the other. “This one has several fights left in him, should you know how to… break him.”

“Of course, Father. But, if I may ask, is Decimus not your favorite?” the second voice questioned.

“He is, but I grow weary of him. Fresher blood is being trained as we speak. I will choose from them. Brutus?”

“Your Majesty?” the voice of Brutus was deep and rich, the sound tantalizing despite the fact that it would soon, he was certain, be the source of torment.

“Assist Tacitus with his new slaves. Make this one take the oath,” the Emperor ordered before turning on his heel and retreating back the way he came.

There was a long moment of silence before a large hand gently cupped his chin and lifted his head, causing Iuvenalis to avert his gaze. Brutus let out a soft chuckle, the sound still full and deep, making Iuve clench his jaw and narrow his eyes, staring at nothing, hands flexing at his sides. Perhaps he had cursed the gods too early and, to toy with him further, they had condemned him to slavery and humiliation, prolonged punishment instead of death.

“Look at me, pirate.” Brutus’ voice was quiet but wielded authority like legendary warrior wielded a spear.

Iuve obeyed, his eyes fixing on the man’s face, staring at the square jaw and pale blue eyes, the dark hair, and the complete lack of malice on his feature. It was obvious that this man was a soldier of some sort, his skin sun kissed and his eyes haunted by memories of battle and dead friends. Immediately Iuvenalis was struck by how odd it was for such a man to be at the Emperor’s side during Gladiatorial games, let alone left alone with the Emperor’s only son.

“There is a fire in you,” Brutus mused before looking to the man at his side, turning Iuvenalis’ head to look as well. “This is your master, Tacitus.”

Iuve stared at Tactius, at how cold his eyes were, how small he was and yet how he commanded authority with his entire being. There was indifference in those ice blue eyes as well as resignation. Iuvenalis wondered if perhaps this Tacitus even wanted gladiators or if he simply was accepting to appease his father. Either way, Iuve couldn’t help but feel like livestock, which made him close his eyes and take a calming breath to keep from lashing out. Perhaps he could find a way to escape from his imprisonment if he endured such humiliation.

“Brutus, can you take care of this from here? I’m needed at an important meeting.” Tacitus’ words made Iuve open his eyes and glance at the large man; he wasn’t certain if he wanted to be left to Brutus’ whims.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Brutus inclined his head respectively and watched as Tacitus turned and walked away, quieting his voice. “My, but Tacitus does not understand what an opportunity you are.”

Iuve couldn’t help but grimace. “I’m not certain what you mean… my Lord.”

“That title tastes like ash in your mouth, does it not?” Brutus questioned, looking amused. “I was a slave once. I had another name once. Behave, Pirate, and things will improve for you.”

Iuvenalis frowned at Brutus before giving a small nod. “What… would you have of me, my Lord?”

Brutus chuckled, releasing Iuvenalis’ chin to run his fingers through his bi-colored hair, almost like one would a loyal dog. “Your name.”

“Iuvenalis.”

“Roman. I see. You are not a native of Crete, then. Perhaps one day you will tell me what drove you to piracy. For now, you must take your oath.” Brutus gestured for the former pirate to stand, something Iuve was more than happy to comply with; his knees ached. “Swear that you will endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword.”

Iuve stared at Brutus, his eyes narrowing. He had little choice, really, if he had any hope of escape. “I… will endure to be burned, to be bound, to be… beaten, and to be killed by the sword.”

“Good. Now, come with me, Iuvenalis. We must go retrieve Decimus and relocate you both to Tacitus’ estate. You will be tended to you there. You are now a gladiator of the royal family,”

——-

Tacitus’ estate was small compared to Vitus’ palace, but it was bigger than any place Iuvenalis had seen before. Decimus seemed unimpressed with his surroundings, his entire form relaxed and calm, as if he wasn’t being passed from owner to owner like a prized animal that outgrew its welcome. Brutus left them with two servants who escorted them to the baths located in the center of the estate, shoving both Iuve and Decimus into the almost too-hot water, making the new gladiator hiss and Decimus chuckle.

“I am glad that I didn’t have to kill you today,” Decimus began, scrubbing at his arms with the soap that had been provided to them.

“I am not,” Iuvenalis muttered, sinking into the water; his aching muscles felt better than they had in months.

Decimus grew serious, pausing in his bathing. “This is not a bad life, Iuvenalis. You will see.”

“Will I?” Iuve questioned, cracking his eyes open, and watching the other Gladiator as he moved closer to him. “I would rather die than be a royal’s lapdog.”

Decimus rolled his eyes before beginning to rub soap into Iuvenalis’ shoulders. “Bravery in the arena can be cause for freedom or pardons.”

“I will not be pardoned. I was a pirate.” Iuve leaned into the scrubbing, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Now you are a gladiator,” Decimus answered before suddenly cupping his hands, filling them with water, and dumping it over Iuvenalis’ head, making him splutter. “Now stop being an ass and bathe yourself.”

Iuve glared at the other Gladiator before muttering and beginning to scrub the dirt and blood from his skin again. “You are much more agreeable in the arena.”

“The same could be said about you, Iuvenalis.”

“Iuve.”

Decimus tilted his head, offering Iuvenalis a perplexed look. “What?”

Iuvenalis didn’t look at him. “I trust you more than these nobles. You… can call me Iuve.”

“Ah… My friends call me Deci sometimes.”

“What caused you to be a gladiator, Deci?” Iuvenalis questioned, running his fingers through his hair.

“You are not quite friend enough for that,” Decimus answered, dipping down beneath the water of the bath.

Iuve frowned at the other gladiator when he came back up. “You cannot have done worse than I have.”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Decimus answered, climbing out of the bath and taking one of the towels the servants offered him.

Iuvenalis rushed to finish, rinsing himself and climbing out of the bath as a servant provided Decimus a simple, cream-colored tunic. “I didn’t mean offense.”

“I have been in the arena too long to take offense from a simple question,” Decimus replied, tying his tunic in place with a thin sash. “Why are you so interested in me?”

Iuvenalis grimaced as his own red tunic was tugged over his head and a sash shoved into his hands. “You are one of the few I have met here that seems to have honor.”

Decimus finished fastening his sandals, tapping the toe of each against the stone floor. “Honor? Honor will not help you here.”

Iuve shook his head and fumbled with his sandals before finally managing to secure them. “No, but the fact that you have it at all makes you… different.”

Decimus arched a brow before shaking his head. “Your pride and your honor may kill you here, Iuve.”

Iuvenalis frowned, following his fellow gladiator as he headed out of the baths. “What do you mean?”

Decimus offered him a sad, tired smile over his shoulder. “You will find out soon enough.”

Iuvenalis frowned at the cryptic words, his eyes fixed on the back of Decimus’ head. He seemed so different from how he had been in the arena, so much more stand-offish, and Iuve wondered if, perhaps, everything had been an act. After all, gladiators were known for the performances that they gave and, if it had been a performance then, well, Iuve had fallen for it all too easily. Iuvenalis wasn’t certain which was worse, the thought that Decimus had been acting, or the thought that he hadn’t before and felt the need to act now that they were within the safety of an estate. If it was the latter then Iuvenalis dreaded finding out what made a brave warrior such as Decimus fear showing any sign of weakness.

They walked in silence as the servants escorted them to their room. Iuvenalis was actually surprised by how large it was, despite the fact that it was obviously meant to house multiple people judging by the beds lined against the wall. It was far different from how he had envisioned housing for slaves to be but, then again, he also supposed that official gladiators of the royal family were treated in a different manner. Decimus had already flopped down on one of the beds, his hands folded behind his head and his eyes slipping shut, seemingly at ease in such an environment. Hesitantly, Iuvenalis sank down on the next bed to him, smoothing his hands over the plush blankets; it had been a long time since he’d slept in a decent bed.

Once the servants had left Decimus’ eyes slid open and he sat up, leveling Iuvenalis a narrow look. Frowning, the pirate shot his fellow gladiator a disgruntled look, which caused Decimus to sigh and shake his head, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He reached out and shoved at Iuvenalis’ shoulder, causing the former pirate to snarl; this sudden change in attitude was beginning to agitate him.

“Why are you-” Iuvenalis began, his tone annoyed.

“Brutus likes you,” Decimus murmured, glancing around the room, his eyes narrowed. “Be wary of that. Also stop behaving like a territorial lion, it will not serve you well here.”

“Your constant changes in intent would confuse even the muses,” Iuvenalis muttered, still irritated.

“You cannot expect to act freely here, Iuve. Any weakness you show will be exploited, any defiance you have will be beaten from you, and any sort of interest or affection you show any of the nobles… That will take you places you do not wish to be.” Decimus’ voice was quiet, his eyes still scanning nothing. “You should trust nothing.”

“Why tell me these things? I am not a babe that needs protection.” Iuvenalis followed Decimus’ gaze when it stopped, noting the edge of a tunic in the doorway; a servant was listening to them.

“I am not here to protect you. A simple warning,” Decimus answered, his tone cool once more. “Rest. They will bring us food when it is time to eat.”

With that, Decimus laid back down, rolling onto his side with his back facing Iuvenalis. Frowning, the former pirate glanced back at the doorway, but the servant that had been listening had either hidden themselves or left. Hesitantly, Iuvenalis laid down and stared at the ceiling of their room, curiosity niggling at his senses. It was obvious that there was much that Decimus wasn’t telling him, much that he quite possibly couldn’t tell him, about their new master and his house. However, considering how they were being watched, he doubted that he could ask and get an answer out of the other man. So, with a disgruntled sigh, Iuvenalis closed his eyes and hoped that when he woke, everything that had transpired was simply a bad dream, a twisted joke of the gods. Part of his mind promptly told him that to wish so was folly.


End file.
